


the many, many times Jaskier tried to get Geralt to talk feelings, and the one time he wasn't really trying to

by NadiasGhost



Series: Jaskier/Geralt nonsense [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Attempted Seduction, Barmaids being the ultimate wingwoman i guess, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining Jaskier | Dandelion, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Sub Jaskier | Dandelion, confident jaskier, dom/sub undertones oops, geralt is stupid-- im sorry, jaskier has heard of the only one bed trope clearly, jaskier trying this whole seduction thing, jaskier underestimating how whipped Geralt is for him, kinda dub consent about snuggling but because of their clear lack of communication skills, this author is a bottom and it shows, this is just Jaskier torturing poor Geralt at this point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:22:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24695968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NadiasGhost/pseuds/NadiasGhost
Summary: There were, of course, better ways jaskier could have gone about this.Like a normal, human conversation for example.But he was tired, and at this point, not at all above being petty.He'd only been flirting with the man for YEARS. And now Geralt had the audacity to tell Yennefer he had feelings for Jaskier, as if Yennefer had any interest in that information from her ex-lover. And Jaskier wasn't ever sure whether to be thankful to Yennefer that she's decided to tell him about this drunken conversation or not."Is that--" Geralt started from the doorway, "is that my shirt?"***Talking to Geralt was getting Jaskier nowhere, the man was incapable of talking about his feelings. So the current plan? Do as much as possible to drive Geralt insane in hopes he'd take the er.... initiative. Or just shove Jaskier up against a wall. Jaskier would be down with that too.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Jaskier/Geralt nonsense [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1785415
Comments: 40
Kudos: 684





	1. Geralt's Clothes

There were, of course, better ways jaskier could have gone about this. 

Like a normal, human conversation for example. 

But he was tired, and at this point, not at all above being petty. 

He'd only been flirting with the man for YEARS. And now Geralt had the audacity to tell Yennefer he had feelings for Jaskier, as if Yennefer had any interest in that information from her ex-lover. And Jaskier wasn't ever sure whether to be thankful to Yennefer that she's decided to tell him about this drunken conversation or not. 

Because if Geralt was harbouring feelings for him, and was choosing to say nothing, surely, surely the man had good reason to do so. Perhaps he had no interest in a relationship between the two of them or perhaps he didn't think Jaskier could offer him the type of relationship he wanted. 

Or perhaps, Jaskier thought, tugging on the other sleeve, he was just utterly and completely stupid. 

And Jaskier had to rule out that possibility, before he could let the matter go. 

"Is that--" Geralt started from the doorway, "is that my shirt?" 

Jaskier looked up at him as though he hadn't been waiting for that specific question. 

"Mmh," Jaskier replied nodding, "all of mine are dirty." He didn't tack on a 'hope you don't mind', but he did saunter across the hotel room to rummage through their packs. 

Wet, tousled hair from the bath he'd just had. Geralt's shirt sliding half off one shoulder. The hem of the shirt falling just above his knees. No pants. He was aware of his look, of course it was international. 

He wasn't going to let this matter go until he'd ruled out the possibility of Geralt wanting something more for their relationship. 

But he bloody well wasn't going to ask the Witcher point blank, as that NEVER seemed to work for him. Geralt didn't exactly love talking about feelings.

Hence: this less than perfectly thought out plan. 

"And what am I to wear tomorrow?" Geralt finally asked. 

Jaskier shrugged noncommitally, having finally found the notebook he was looking for. The shirt slipped farther off his shoulder at this motion, and he carefully pretended not to notice. "I'm sure I'd be doing this village a most kind deed ridding you of it," he replied. 

After a short pause, Geralt seemed to realize the joke, and scoffed. 

“Get some sleep, Bard,” he said, settling down onto his bed. 

“Yes sir,” Jaskier quipped in the same tone, already settling down with his notebook and ink.


	2. Pretending To Be Cold

Staying in the inn last night had been nice. 

Very nice. 

Big fluffy bed. 

Alas, it was making the prospect of staying in the middle of the woods tonight less than appealing. 

But they were on a back road, heading north towards some job Geralt didn’t even KNOW he’d get paid for, and there was no town to stay at for another two days hike. 

“What happened to the music?” Geralt asked after a moment. The trail was covered in roots, and they were both on foot, stepping carefully. Roach was carrying most of their belongings. 

“Hands too cold,” Jaskier replied. That much was true. He’d packed up his lute when his fingers had become too stiff to play, and was now holding his hands to his mouth the breath on them and warm them up instead. 

Geralt stopped Roach, and Jaskier nearly bumped into him. 

“Small blankets are on the far side saddle bag,” Geralt explained, giving roach a scritch between her ears. 

Jaskier headed to the pocket he’d described, pulling out one of the smaller blankets they had for staying the night in the woods and wrapped it around his hands. Geralt had been more and more considerate of Jaskier’s human needs over the past few months. Jaskier went to flash a smile of thanks at the Witcher, but he was already talking to the horse. 

“Ready?” Geralt asked after a moment. 

***

It was cold by the time the sun began to set and they picked a clearing to spend the night. Not the worst night they’d had to spend out of doors, but it would get colder as the moon continued to replace the sun. 

Jaskier hid his sudden grin behind the blankets he was unpacking from roach as an idea presented itself to him. 

Bad idea. 

About the same terrible tier of bad idea as some of his others pertaining to this particular plan…. 

When Geralt had finally set up a fire and began to cook Jaskier rolled out the bed rolls and unpacked Roach fully so she could graze. 

“Not going to rain tonight,” Geralt remarked. Thank fuck for that, Jaskier thought eloquenty. He didn’t ask the Witcher how he knew. Either it was some intuition he would never understand, or Geralt was just fucking with him and coincidentally hadn’t been wrong yet, and honestly, Jaskier didn’t care which.

They ate huddled over the food, happy to be close to the warmth of the fire. Soon it would be too late in the year for Jaskier to sleep outside, and they’d have to spend more money on inn rooms, zigzagging from town to town instead of making direct headway through the woods. Geralt wouldn’t complain, but nonetheless it was only Jaskier’s mind. 

And it was bloody cold. 

Not actually cold enough for him to complain…. But perhaps cold enough that he could get away with it. 

And that was his terrible, very bad plan. 

Darkness fell quickly, and soon Jaskier and Geralt were tucked into their bedrolls, Roach beginning to nod off. Jaskier was comfy in his bedroll, with the majority of the blankets, he wouldn’t lie…. But he had a plan to keep to. 

“Mmm,” he said aloud, rolling over. 

“What’s wrong?” Geralt asked, voice thick. Not properly asleep then, just sleepy. They’d only been lying down a minute, but Jaskier could no longer put it past the Witcher not to fall asleep instantly. 

“Cold,” Jaskier replied as an explanation. 

“Hm.”

After a moment with no elaboration, Jaskier asked, “Geralt?”

“Come here then,” Geralt replied. His eyes were still closed, Jaskier could tell. 

“Huh?” 

This had been Jaskier’s plan exactly, but he had not thought it would be this easy. 

“You’re not going to sleep if you’re cold,” Geralt elaborated.

“Yeah,” Jaskier replied, “y-yeah, right.”

He climbed out of his pile of blankets and clambered over the five feet. Geralt barely sleepily opened his eyes, but lifted his own blankets with one arm. 

Jaskier hadn’t expected to get this far. 

He sat down and wiggled under the covers, throwing his own blankets over the both of them. Saying he’d been cold wasn’t exactly a lie, because Geralt’s personal space was very warm in comparison to his own bedroll. 

The witcher grunted, then shuffled to properly fit the extra blankets around the two of them. 

Jaskier’s side where he was pressed up against Geralt all but burned. 

“Sleep now,” Geralt yawned, his hand still on the blanket edge on the far side of Jaskier, his arm a warm weight on Jaskier’s chest. 

But Jaskier would not be outdone in a battle he’d declared, no sir. 

Jaskier wiggled around for a moment getting comfy, then rolled so his head was tucked under Geralt’s chin, his own arm slung over Geralt’s waist, tucking up his knees so the two of them pressed together all the way down.

“Warm,” Jaskier explained, despite how weak of a defense this was for nuzzling into Geralt’s collar. His heart beat audibly in his own ears. 

Geralt did not question him on this, siding his arm down to rest more comfortably over the small of Jaskier’s waist and tucking his chin over Jaskier’s head. 

“Hm.”

Feeling bold, Jaskier hugged him closer, shoulders relaxing at the truly comfortable feeling of the solid arm around him and the near mountain of blankets. 

“Geralt--?”

….And the Witcher was asleep. Naturally. 

Jaskier snorted out a laugh.


	3. Jaskier's one bed plan/ songs in the tavern/ and a distinct lack of clothes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the only trope this author loves more than actual accidentally awkward circumstances is person A 100% orchestrating “accidentally awkward circumstances” just to get person B’s attention and it shows….

Geralt was already up and moving about by the time Jaskier woke up, which was disappointing to say the least. How could he tell if his plan was working if he couldn’t even see Geralt’s reaction?

Jaskier’s frustration with this disappeared when he realized Geralt had already started on breakfast. 

It was mid afternoon by the time they reached the next town. 

“We could make it a bit farther within the daylight hours,” Geralt began, but was cut off by Jaskier’s responding look as the two of them smelled fresh baked bread from the town. 

“Yeah, fine, we rest here tonight,” Geralt sighed. 

Jaskier ran ahead of him, spotting the one inn in town first, and making a beeline for it. Geralt shook his head and led Roach towards the inn’s stables. 

“Kind sir, do you have available lodging for tonight?” Jaskier asked breathily, running up to the desk. 

The tavern was full, but not with the crush of people that would come as the sun set. 

“Just the one lodging for yourself?” The innkeeper asked. 

Jaskier opened his mouth to correct him, then shut it again. “Yes.”

The man handed him a key. 

Jaskier went into the tavern and had himself a table with two ales and two bowls of soup by the time Geralt made it inside.

“Bad news, terrible really,” Jaskier greeted him solemnly, sipping his soup. 

“Hm?”

“Only one room left, thank goodness we got it,” Jaskier lied. He offered Geralt the other soup. 

Geralt shrugged. “Better than another night in the cold, don’t want you to start complaining.”

Jaskier feigned outrage for a moment, but was distracted by the food he’d ordered himself. 

By the time they’d finished eating, other patrons had begun to properly fill the tavern. Geralt muttered that it was two days before the weekday of religious observance here, and that this was most likely the busiest day of the week they could’ve rested in town. 

Jaskier shrugged in response, happy the universe was backing up his blatant lie about the room. 

“Shall I perform?” he asked after a moment, half to himself and half to Geralt. He was tired, but the allure of a full tavern and applause and coin was appealing. Geralt unwound the bag he’d brought in from Roach, revealing Jaskier’s lute. 

“You brought that in for me?” Jaskier asked in a teasing tone, a smile stretching his face. 

Geralt rolled his eyes, scoffing out, “just didn’t want to have to go back out and get it off Roach.”

Suuuuure. 

Jaskier just grinned at him and snatched up the lute. 

Geralt’s dark eyes followed him as he twirled around the inn, performing jigs and upbeat dance songs. The crowd was uproarious once they’d had a bit to drink, throwing coin and cheering generously. Every joke or particularly difficult note to hit, Jaskier would glance over at the booth in the back and find Geralt’s eyes still on him. 

“One more!” somebody protested as Jaskier went to the bar seeking water. 

“Alright, alright, one more, but let me drink this first,” Jaskier appeased. He drank deeply, forgetting to wink at the barmaid who’d handed him the glass, and turned back to the crowd. “What do we want?” 

He looked to Geralt as he said it, but the Witcher offered no ideas, only smiled genuinely, leaning back in his seat and watching Jaskier from across the tavern. 

A jumbled mess of shouted responses followed from the other patrons, lots of jig suggestions Jaskier knew well, and one of the barmaids behind him shouted: “a love song, good bard!” 

“A love song, then?” Jaskier replied looking around. There was a great cheer despite the fact that most of the requests had been for jigs. Jaskier shuffled up onto a stool, and looked at Geralt one last time before beginning to play.

This was a song he’d practiced a few times on the road, but only when Geralt was much farther ahead with Roach, and not within earshot. It was very clearly about Geralt, within the first verse referring to both his white hair and his golden eyes. 

Jaskier swallowed thickly as his fingers began to pluck the intro chords to the chorus. He couldn’t look up at Geralt anymore, he didn’t want to know what look the Witcher had on his face. This was no longer as subtle as his previous attempts to get the man’s attention. 

When he finished the song he realized just how melancholy it had sounded, as a hush had fallen over the tavern. As the patrons realized he’d finished, his final note was met with deafening applause. 

He chanced a glance back up at Geralt, whose face was unreadable. 

Jaskier was bold, but he usually wasn’t this bold. Even several of the patrons of the bar had chanced glances back at Geralt during this last song, realizing the lyrics were about the bard’s travelling companion, and they hadn’t met the two of them before tonight. 

There was no way Geralt missed the meaning behind the lyrics. 

Jaskier graciously accepted the applause for his singing, and turned back to the bar, asking the lady there for another water. It wasn’t until he’d finished it that he took a deep breath, and headed back over to Geralt’s booth. 

Geralt smiled at him as he sat down, but it was a usual sort of smile, not a I've-just-heard-a-blatant-love-confession sort of smile. Jaskier frowned. 

“Thoughts?” he asked. 

“You sang very well,” Geralt replied genuinely, finishing the last of his ale, “I think the people here very much enjoyed your stories.” The…. people?

“And you?” Jaskier pressed. 

Geralt shrugged. “I always enjoy your performances.” There was honesty there too, but it felt somewhat impersonal. Jaskier frowned more. Maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe Yennifer had been jerking him around to have a laugh. Maybe Geralt didn’t feel the same way as he did that drunken night when he’d confessed his feelings for Jaskier to Yennifer. Maybe…. 

Geralt stared at him blankly, presumably waiting for Jaskier to finish his thought and rejoin reality and the conversation. 

Unbelievable. 

Un-fucking-belivable. 

Jaskier was aware his Witcher could be a bit stupid, but really, those lyrics had been painfully obvious, and painfully obviously full of pining. 

Jaskier looked back at him, equally blankly, the two of them now engaged in an odd staring battle. 

Jaskier accepted the realization he had made. Geralt didn’t understand that the ballad was about him. Or how Jaskier felt about him. 

Jaskier sighed. What was he going to do with him.

“Shall we retire for the night?” Geralt asked, “now that you have your fill of attention and coin?” It was a cheerful tease, but it felt off after how nervous Jaskier had been moments before. 

“I think I need another drink first,” Jaskier replied. 

When Jaskier made it up to their room a half hour later he’d nearly forgotten he’d asked only for one lodging. And the inn downstairs was packed now, there was no way he’d be able to get another one.

Oh well. He was all in on this dumbass plan as his dumbass witcher anyway. 

“Single bed,” Geralt remarked as Jaskier tumbled into the room. Not actually because he was tipsy from drinking, but because there was a slight lip where the door was, and Geralt had only a single candle lit. 

Stupid witcher eyesight. 

“Matches?” Jaskier asked in response. Geralt was perched on the bed, cleaning a knife. It had most likely not been used for killing monsters most recently, and was more likely used last because Geralt had used it in preparing breakfast this morning. Which made Jaskier feel marginally better for the innkeeper. 

Geralt nodded to the bedside table top, with the lit candle, and Jaskier headed there for the matches. 

They often slept in one room, as inns were expensive. But usually with two beds, or a larger bed capable of comfortably fitting two people. That being said, Geralt sometimes fell asleep on the floor or in a chair or curled up in the windowsill, which Jaskier was used to by now, and new better to wake a witcher with night terrors. 

Nonetheless tonight Geralt was perched on the bed, armor already off, and now in loose cotton clothes, polishing his weaponry. 

Jaskier lit the other candle. He shouldn’t find weapon cleaning and polishing hot. That was bad. He rubbed his forehead, between his eyes. 

“Single bed,” Geralt repeated, apparently adamant on admonishing Jaskier on his inability to purchase proper lodging. “The innkeep said one lodging left,” Jaskier lied, “I thought he meant one room but apparently he meant bed big enough for one one person to have all limbs on it.” 

“Hm,” Geralt grunted in response, but he didn’t seem truly troubled by this reply. 

“Your hair’s wet,” Jaskier observed as he sat down on the end of the bed. 

“Hm.”

“I see we’re having a very conversationalist evening,” Jaskier quipped, but he struggled nonetheless to catch Geralt’s eye. 

“Ordered a bath,” Geralt answered, finally setting the knife back into it’s sheath and pulling another from his bag. Jaskier perked up at that, despite the tiredness from the long day and exhaustion of performing, including the emotional exhaustion of a love song that was apparently not clear enough. 

He headed to the adjoining bathroom with his lit candle, stopping only to rummage out a towel and his oils. The bath was still warm, and Jaskier sighed as his muscles relaxed. If he hadn’t been able to get Geralt to talk to him about his feelings tonight, at least he would go to bed smelling nice. 

When his candle was starting to truly burn down, he reached for the towel. Jaskier’s hand froze. Just towel, no clothes. 

He splashed back into the bath dramatically, sinking underwater and exhaling until there was a stream of bubbles racing to the surface. “You alright there Bard?” came Geralt’s voice from the adjoining room. 

He had two options, really. Sheepishly ask for Geralt to bring him some clean clothes, or put on what he’d been wearing all day. 

…. Or. He could just go back in there and get them himself. He’d tried everything else, not even the obvious love song had worked. Streaking half naked because he was too tired to remember to bring fresh clothes into the bathing room with him wasn’t exactly the height of class, but Jaskier could make it work. He wasn’t giving up. He had a plan. 

He dried quickly, and swung the towel around his hips, kicking his dirty clothes into the pile Geralt had discarded his armor into. He could deal with them tomorrow. Even with the towel tied as snugly as he could make it, it still had a slit that ran up one leg, where the edges of the fabric didn’t quite meet, almost to his hip bone, where he’d tied the knot. A drop of water dripped from his hair onto his shoulder. 

Geralt’s focus was still fully on his sword polish when Jaskier opened the door conjoining the rooms, but as Jaskier crossed the room to set the half melted candle on the far table, Geralt looked up at him. And looked. And looked. And looked. 

Jaskier would’ve laughed at his comical reaction if his brain wasn’t already so damn loud. 

“No clothes?” Geralt managed to question after a moment. Jaskier snuck another glance at him, truly blushing this time. He was stupid, and dumb. And this was the kind of stupid, dumb plan he came up with and immidately exicuted. 

His defensive jibe died in his throat though when he realized Geralt truly was LOOKING, his eyes sweeping over Jaskier’s neck and collarbones, skittering down his body and then guiltily snapping back up to his face. Jaskier swallowed thickly. 

“Forgot clean clothes,” Jaskier replied, voice a little rougher than strictly speaking necessary. 

“Mmh.”

Oh. Oh ho ho. ‘Mhh’. Jaskier’s jaw clenched over a smile. Not ‘hm’, but ‘mmh’. ‘Mmh’ was deeper, and strictly reserved for the suppression of truly important emotions. 

God, Jaskier had been spending too much time with this man. 

Not to mention that mmh sounded a lot closer to what Jaskier could only supposed a groan would sound like out of the Witcher, which he was trying very valiantly not to think about. 

Jaskier properly set the candle down, but he let Geralt’s dark eyes follow him as he crossed the room again to their bags, similar to how they had when he’d been playing his lute downstairs. 

This gaze, however, was much heavier. 

Jaskier rummaged for a moment in the bags, then managed to pull out a shirt and shorts. 

“Mine.”

“What?” Jaskier asked, turning. Geralt had a hand fisted in the material of the comforter, as if the thought Jaskier wouldn’t notice. As if he didn’t know how unfair that was. As if he didn’t know what that was doing to Jaskier. His dark eyes still bore into the bard. 

“My shirt,” Geralt replied. He didn’t motion to it, but Jaskier tracked his gaze down to the garment in question. Oh. 

Jaskier breathed out shakily, hoping the Witcher didn’t notice. Which was foolish, he acknowledged, since the man had super hearing. “None of mine are clean,” he answered. They still hadn’t stopped to do laundry, and the only shirts of his left clean were well ribbed ones meant for performance and poise. Not comfortable enough for sleep. 

“Mmh.”

Jaskier turned back to the wall and slid the shirt on over his head. It fell just above his knees, and he let the towel drop to tug on his shorts. When he turned around, Geralt was still watching him, but had the good sense to blush and pull away his gaze as their eyes met. 

At a loss for words, Jaskier faked a yawn and a stretch, heading over to the bed. Geralt moved the sword he was holding out of the way, and stowed it away safely in its scabbard on the floor. 

“Thank you,” Jaskier quipped, “I’d rather not lose a limb while sleeping.” Geralt snorted a laugh, but it was very distracting. Jaskier was kneeling on the bed, on top of the covers, moonlight splayed across his pale thighs below the hem of his shorts. When Geralt didn’t move to let him lie down, he began to pull down the covers. 

“Did you want the bed then?” Geralt asked, coming back to his speaking senses like he’d been hit over the back of the head. “We can share,” Jaskier replied. He’d gotten this far. He wasn’t letting Geralt off the hook now, “can’t we?”

“It’s really no problem to get out a bedroll,” Geralt replied, but it was quiet, and he was blatantly watching the fabric of his shirt slide off Jaskier’s shoulder to allow the moonlight to catch on his collarbones.

Jaskier snuggled into the space he’d just made, pulling the covers up over himself and Geralt. The two drink’s he had were starting to wear off, and Jaskier could feel the butterflies making a strong return to his stomach. With one last breath for determination, Jaskier rolled so his back was to Geralt, using his arm to tug Geralt’s arm over his waist. He could hear Geralt’s breath catch for a moment, didn’t need Witcher hearing for that, they were close. 

Geralt tightened his grip slightly, but Jaskier could feel his fingers splay across his stomach through the thin cotton fabric of his sleep shirt. They were pressed together all the way up, Geralt’s body firm against his back. 

There was no way he was going to be able to sleep like this. 

Nonetheless Jaskier forced himself to relax, slowing his breathing and nuzzling into the pillow. He waited five minutes, ten, fifteen, thirty, before he began to feel foolish. Surely he couldn’t trick a mutant into thinking he’d fallen asleep. Geralt could probably tell by his heart beat or the deepness of his breathing or something. 

But just when Jaskier was genuinely starting to feel his full belly and few drinks and warm limbs lull him to sleep, he felt warm lips press a kiss into the back of his neck.


	4. pretending to be much drunker than he is/ flirting with other people to make Geralt jealous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am.... so sorry. but I promise to update soon for the last chapter 
> 
> also! Trigger Warning for potential/ suspected roofie. Also for dude not leaving jaskier alone and not taking no as an answer about flirting. If you're worried about it it's near the very end of the chapter, after the performance in the tavern. much love and thank you for the nice comments so far on this fic y'all are the best

Jaskier needed to sleep lighter. Geralt was up before him again, and had already wandered off to find breakfast by the time he woke. Jaskier yawned and rolled over, snuggling into the pillows. He COULD go find Geralt…. Or he could bank on the fact that Geralt would most likely retrieve him breakfast too, and sleep a little longer. 

After 20 minutes of watching the sunlight dance across the wood floor, with no Witcher and no further sleep coming for him, Jaskier yawned again and rolled out of bed, padding towards their bags. He pulled on pants-- his own-- and made his way downstairs.

Geralt was talking to the man behind the counter when he got down there. There was no breakfast in sight, which Jaskier frowned at. He crossed the room, a few patrons who recognized him from last night smiling at him, and came to stand at Geralt’s side. 

“Breakfast?” Jaskier asked. 

“A man’s been killed,” Geralt replied. 

“So no breakfast.” Jaskier sighed. The man behind the counter huffed at his bluntness, but he mumbled that he’d see what he could do, thanked Geralt again, and headed to the kitchens. 

“Who’s been killed then?” Jaskier asked, hopping up onto a stool beside the counter. Geralt walked the few steps and sat down on the stool next to him. 

“Man in a village near here, barely over an hour’s ride,” Geralt replied gruffly. He had a cup, with what seemed to be coffee in it, and Jaskier’s stomach rumbled. 

“Any guess as to what killed him?” Jaskier asked, instead of inquiring about the coffee. 

“One guess yes,” Geralt replied, “and it doesn’t just hunt at night. Also during the day.”

“And it’s an hour’s ride away? Lovely.” Jaskier let his eyes wander the witcher’s face, remembering the feeling of Geralt’s lips pressed softly to the back of his neck. 

“I’m taking Roach and heading to where it was last spotted once Roach has finished eating in the stables,” was Geralt’s reply, and he drank deeply from the coffee mug. 

“Shall I come with you then?” 

“There isn’t a second horse,” Geralt replied, “it’s an hour’s ride with one person on Roach. I asked the innkeep if he has a spare horse and he said no. It’s not that I want to start an argument with you about keeping up on foot, I just--”

“You want to get there as fast as possible because you’re worried it might kill somebody else,” Jaskier finished for him. 

“Hm,” Geralt agreed. Jaskier smiled at him, while Geralt was drinking from his mug with his eyes closed and couldn’t see. Geralt would get coin for the monster’s head either way, his desire to ride out quickly was to save some villager he’d never met from possibly becoming the monster’s next snack. ‘Only care about the coin, no feelings here, my ass,’ Jaskier thought. 

“The boy who rode here in search of help, he’s still in the tavern,” Geralt said after he put down the mug. He nodded to a young man sitting in the far corner from them, leaning over a steaming mug. Jaskier followed his gaze and nodded, “poor lad.”

“I’ve already asked him the questions I needed to to prepare for the hunt,” Geralt elaborated, “but since you aren’t coming with me, you could ask him for the story. You know…. For your song inspiration.” Jaskier beamed at him, then sobered, and quipped, “I’m sure I could do a better job of comforting the lad then you did when you interrogated him as well.”

“Hm.”

The tavern keeper brought Jaskier a plate of bread and eggs, and when Jaskier reached for his coin purse, he put a hand up to stop him. “No coin, bard. A thanks for your performance last night, and an advance on another tonight.” 

Jaskier smiled and thanked him.

“Hm. We’ll still be here tonight,” agreed Geralt. 

“And the job to the north?” Jaskier asked. “A tavern gossip rumor,” replied Geralt, “we’ll still go check it out, but tomorrow. This monster here, he’s priority.” 

Jaskier nodded. 

******

Jaskier had been right about one thing. He was much better at comforting the message boy than Geralt had been. 

Now he was sat in their preferred corner seat, on his third coffee, scribbling into his notebook, while the boy got some much needed sleep. 

By the time Geralt returned, Jaskier had fully written out the story, begun some lyrics, eaten again, and worried a ridiculous amount about the Witcher. It was nearly dark. Upon entering the tavern, Geralt’s dark eyes searched the room and, upon spotting Jaskier, he let out a sigh of relief, but only nodded in Jaskier's direction and headed for the stairs. His face and chest were covered in blood, but the majority of his hair was clean, a shock of white against the dark red. 

Jaskier hopped out of his seat, snapping his notebook closed, and hurried to follow the Witcher. "It went fine," Geralt said, before the bard had even opened his mouth, "beast is killed. I'm intact." 

Those were going to be Jaskier's two first questions. In lieu of those, he pressed on with his usual third question. "Any injuries then?" 

"None of the blood is mine, don't worry, Bard." That was what Jaskier wanted to know. That was always what Jaskier wanted to know in situations like these. Sue him, it seemed like a pertinent question. 

Geralt stopped on the stairs, hissing slightly as he turned to face Jaskier. "However, maybe a broken rib," Geralt tacked on. 

With Geralt a step up, Jaskier had to look way up at him. He knew a broken rib was not a serious injury to a witcher, but nonetheless he frowned and worried his bottom lip. "Worth a trip to a healer?" 

"No," Geralt replied, "I'll be fine." He patted at his pockets for a moment, then frowned, leaning against the railing for support. "What is it you're looking for?" Jaskier asked. He wanted desperately to press on with Geralt, replaying the feeling of kisses on the back of his neck over and over, but he knew the Witcher was bone tired now and needed help to recover. 

"Coin," the witcher replied, "wanted to ask you to order me a bath up to the room to.... y'know." He gestured at the generally alarming amount of blood. 

"I've coin," Jaskier said quickly, "I'll go and order it, you go up and sit down." 

"Hm." 

Jaskier nearly laughed at the especially forced sounding grunt, but didn't after seeing how hard it was for Geralt to turn and pull himself up the rest of the stairs. Instead he watched the witcher carefully to make sure he made it up the stairs, and turned back to go speak to the inn keeper. 

A bath later, Geralt emerged into their room with wet hair, and clean, black cotton clothing. Jaskier, who'd been perched on the bed, immediately asked, "just the one broken rib then?" 

Geralt nodded. "Counted the intact ones all myself. No cuts big enough for stitches." 

That was good. "Any cuts big enough for bandaging?" Jaskier asked. Geralt shrugged, "it'll heal in a few days." 

Jaskier sighed. They always played this game, this was nothing new. "Where is it then?" The bard asked, reaching into their bags for the cotton bandaging. 

Geralt sat on the edge of the bed, facing away from Jaskier. He was hardly even pretending to be bothered. "My back," he replied, rucking up his shirt. 

Jaskier didn't flinch or inhale sharply like he usually would. This was hardly as bad as some of the gaping wounds Geralt had dictated as 'not needing stitches'. 

Nonetheless he carefully bandaged the cut, nimble fingers pressing the sticking salve to Geralt's hot skin carefully, and then pressing the bandage into place. Geralt said nothing, although that was not unusual for him when having injuries attended to. 

For good measure, Jaskier smoothed two cool hands down Geralt's back, and earned himself a shudder from the Witcher. 

"Are you going to tell me about the fight?" Jaskier asked, "we've time before dinner." Geralt made no motion to move, but hummed and nodded. 

"The fight was over quick," he rumbled, "it was the tracking that took long." 

As he spoke, Jaskier moved his hands to Geralt's damp hair, running his fingers through the soft ends of it. "Fancy a braid?" Jaskier asked in response to the Witcher's answer about the hunt. He tried his best to be nonchalant, but he didn't know if he'd succeeded. 

He'd done Geralt's a few times before in their travels, all for formal events where the two of them needed to look presentable, but this felt different. 

"Sure," Geralt replied seemingly casually, and without seeing his face, it was impossible for Jaskier to properly gauge his tone. 

Jaskier raked his fingers through the long hair, trailing his fingernails lightly over Geralt's scalp before parting the hair. He was barely even thinking about the plan, he was just feeling greedy today, eager to touch. 

"Mmh." Geralt rumbled. 

"Tell me about the fight itself then," Jaskier said after a moment. 

"Quick," Geralt replied, and he was either growing tired, or relaxed, as his shoulders slouched forwards. "It got behind me before I spotted it, gave me a swipe, but I had it handled once I was looking at it." 

Jaskier braided the hair in three parts, knuckles brushing over the back of Geralt's neck. "And the broken rib?" 

"We tousled, and the thing rolled on top of me, was just heavy, crushed my side, but I got my sword in it from underneath," Geralt replied. His voice was heavy and soft, and he leaned into the touches. 

"There you are," Jaskier smiled, flipping the tail end of the braid over the Witcher's shoulder, "I should probably write down what you've said in my notebook." But neither of them moved to stand up. 

There was a peel of laughter through the window from the courtyard downstairs. They both turned to look at the noise, and Jaskier’s eyes flickered back to Geralt’s face, in front of him, illuminated by the candles on the bedside table. 

It was dark outside. People were arriving downstairs in the tavern for dinner. 

Geralt was beautiful. 

Jaskier blinked slowly, not minding if the Witcher realized he was staring. Geralt twisted to face him more. If the bard moved forward an inch, he could press their lips together. He smiled, watching Geralt’s eyes flicker from his eyes to his lips and back to his eyes again. 

Honestly, did he think he was being subtle?

Jaskier licked his bottom lip, meeting Geralt’s eyes, letting the Witcher know he could lean forwards if he wanted to. 

When Geralt spoke, it was a rough whisper, and Jaskier barely registered the words in favour of shivering in response to his tone. 

“You said you’d play.”

“What?” Jaskier replied intelligently, also at a whisper, although he wasn’t sure why.   
“You said you’d play tonight, to the innkeep downstairs,” Geralt repeated, a grin pulling on one side of his mouth. They were still incredibly close, but no longer touching, and Jaskier wanted to reach out and put his hands back in the Witcher’s hair. 

“Hmm, yes,” Jaskier finally replied, “I did say that, didn’t I?”

Geralt stood, and Jaskier stopped himself from pouting. “We should head downstairs then, get something to eat.”

Jaskier let himself sit for another moment without responding, staring up at the Witcher and his braid. “I suppose we should, yes.”

The tavern was bustling by the time they made it down. It seemed word of Jaskier’s performance the previous night had interested many of the townspeople to see if the bard would be staying a second night, despite the fact that many of them had worship early the next morning. 

Geralt cut through the crowd ahead of Jaskier, braid swinging across his shoulder blades, as though they hadn’t been close to kissing a moment ago. Jaskier bit his bottom lip, frustrated. 

“A celebratory drink? To your victory?” Jaskier suggested as they reached the bar. Geralt nodded amicably, pulling out his coin. 

Jaskier played less songs than the night before, but the crowd did not seem to mind, cheering raucously by the end of his set. Jaskier had downed a second drink in the middle of his performance, but after traveling around with a Witcher this long, two strong drinks was not enough for him to feel drunk. 

Nonetheless, he faked a stumble as he tumbled into the bench next to Geralt, landing closer to the Witcher than was strictly necessary. Since he still had the general attention of the barmaids, who’d watched him cross the floor of the tavern even after he’d bowed, he called out to them: “another drink for the bard please, good ladies.”

They giggled briefly, and one of them skittered off to get it. Jaskier turned and grinned widely at Geralt, leaning on his shoulder to gaze up at him. He was still buoyed off the feeling of cheering and Geralt’s dark eyes tracking him across the floor as he played. 

Geralt swallowed, the movement of his adam’s apple close to Jaskier’s face on his shoulder. 

“You drunk, bard?” Geralt asked.

Attempt ten billion at getting Geralt to talk. Or shove him up against a wall. Either would suffice at this point. 

“Only a little,” Jaskier lied, swaying to sit back in his seat, “the drink I got halfway through singing is starting to hit me now.” Geralt snorted a laugh, clearly believing the bard. “Are you sure you need another so soon then?”

“Of course I do! We’re celebrating your victory,” Jaskier retorted. “Should we start celebrating with drinks everytime I kill something then?” Geralt asked dryly. 

Jaskier shrugged, “we often do. Unless we’re in a forest in the middle of nowhere.”

“That’s fair,” the Witcher allowed. He pushed the plate of food in front of him and what was left on it towards Jaskier, who happily accepted, having used a fair amount of energy flinging himself around the tavern with his lute. 

A barmaid set an ale in front of Jaskier and he smiled at her. 

Ten minutes later, Jaskier was pretending to be even more drunk, leaning heavily onto Geralt and giggling into his shoulder. Geralt was flushed, holding his mostly empty cup with both hands on the table, having held it in that same position since Jaskier had come back to the table. When Jaskier sneaked a glance up at his face, the Witcher was biting down an amused grin, looking out across the inn at the other patrons as he answered Jaskier’s umpteenth question about something unimportant. Jaskier had been right, the flush he’d felt was a pretty pink dusty across Geralt’s cheeks and down his neck. 

Jaskier laughed loudly at his response, tucking his head under Geralt’s chin, not minding if he was stretching the drunk lie a little far at this point. 

Twenty minutes later and other tavern goers had sat themselves down at their table to talk to the White Wolf himself and his bard. This was much to Geralt’s displeasure, but he said nothing, only shuffling over to let Jaskier move closer and let one of them sit on the bench next to Jaskier. 

Jaskier stood and shuffled himself onto Geralt’s lap, settling down comfortably. To sell it, he finished the drink he’d had, clunking the empty cup down onto the table. Geralt huffed, but didn’t move to push him off, one hand on Jaskier’s hip to steady him. Not that Jaskier actually needed it…. But the thought was sweet, and Geralt’s hand on his waist made his stomach flutter. 

Jaskier did most of the talking, leaning forwards across the table. Geralt replied to questions, but seemed to be paying more attention to Jaskier talking. Jaskier bit down a grin. For god’s sake, what else did he have to do. He wanted to turn around and see what Geralt’s face looked like, but he was worried the Witcher would shy away from him. There were, after all, many people here. 

Jaskier leaned forwards to accept a sip of a drink from one of their new friends to try, and Geralt’s hand abruptly tightened on his hip. “Geralt?” Jaskier asked conversationally, setting the drink down. 

Geralt picked him up and set him down on the chair, mumbling that he was going to get himself another drink, and then extracting himself from the conversation hurriedly towards the bar. Jaskier sighed, fidgeting with his cup, and turning back to the new friend’s they’d made, trying not to look disappointed at the Witcher’s disappearance. 

When Geralt returned a moment later, he pulled up a chair from a table not using it to sit, staring resolutely at his drink and not the bard. Nonetheless, a blush creeped up his neck above the collar of his shirt. 

Really?

Fine. 

“I need another as well,” Jaskier lied. In all honesty, he hadn’t been drunk before, but now he was beginning to feel it. He brushed past the Witcher as he stood and made for the bar. 

Instead of sitting to wait, he leaned forwards across the bar, popping a hip out and settling his elbows onto the bartop. If Geralt was going to avoid his EXCELLENT fake drunk plan, the least he could do was give a good in case the Witcher looked over. Jaskier gave himself a moment of pause. Hmm. Maybe he was drunk. 

While he looked down the bar at the what others were drinking, thinking about what he wanted to ask for himself, somebody slid up next to him. 

“Hello?” Jaskier asked in surprise, turning as an arm slid around his waist. 

“Heard you play,” said the young man to whom that arm belonged, “lovely voice. Can I buy you something?” 

Wha-- OH. Jaskier opened his mouth to say he had to get back to his table, but stopped himself. Jaskier bit his bottom lip for a moment, an idea formulating. It wasn’t a good idea, so maybe he was indeed drunk, but then again, none of his sober ideas along this train of thought had been any good. 

Seeing people smile at Geralt made Jaskier happy like nothing else. But seeing people flirt with Geralt? Made his blood boil. Perhaps…. If the witcher felt the same way....

“That would be very kind of you, sir,” Jaskier said, smiling wide at the stranger, and pretending not to notice the stranger’s clearly flirtatious tone, “I’m always happy to talk to an appreciator of my music.” He glanced back at the table to see if anyone had noticed. They had not. 

Not yet. 

“Are you from this village?” Jaskier asked, a lifetime of flirting helping him know how to keep talking, “or traveling?” Too bad the only one he really wanted to be flirting with was still watching the mug in his hands with rapt attention. 

“This village,” the man replied. He had a sharp jaw and bright eyes. Jaskier smiled at him again, but his eyes flicked back to the table again to check. 

“Alright?” the man asked, and at first Jaskier thought he was checking if Jaskier was uncomfortable, but then the man’s eyes tracked over to the table, and Jaskier sighed. He was just trying to see what Jaskier was quite obviously looking over at. 

“Alright,” Jaskier replied cheerily, “if you’re from here, you’ll know what’s good. What should I order?” 

Geralt glanced over, and turned away quickly when their eyes met. 

Come on, Jaskier thought exasperatedly, you get jealous when somebody compliments my singing, I can see it in the way your shoulders tighten and your eyes flick away to the ground. This man is practically draped off me, get up and come over here. 

The bartender slides them their drinks, and the man slides him coin for both. 

“The balcony has a beautiful view, even after dark,” the man offers, taking his hand off the small of Jaskier’s back so they can turn and walk. 

“Mh?” Jaskier replies, “I didn’t know this tavern had a balcony.” The man starts across the floor, and Jaskier follows. Aw hell. He can’t very well make Geralt jealous by flirting with this guy if they go somewhere other than the main room of the tavern. 

“Sure, you just have to leave through the backdoor first,” the man replies, then winks, “c’mon.” 

Oh.

“Oh, uh, I’m… I’m okay, actually, I’m sorry for the misunderstanding,” Jaskier replies instantly, blushing. Good god, how had he gotten himself into this situation one of the only times he very much did not want to be in it. Admittedly, he’d stopped looking for faceless hookups when they stopped on the road a while ago, but he hadn’t realized he’d forgotten the social cues associated with it. 

“Come on,” the man replied, reaching for his elbow. Excuse him. 

“I’m not that kind of bard,” Jaskier clarified, just in case. The mistake had been made before. 

“Are you sure,” the man asked. He’d gotten his desired grip on Jaskier’s elbow. 

“He said he’s not that kind of bard,” growled out the most terrifying, most welcome voice from just behind Jaskier. 

“Geralt!” He said brightly, “lovely to see you, we were just--”

“Hands off,” Geralt said from behind him, to the man, “now.”

The hand on his elbow vanished. 

“Why didn’t you tell me it was like that?” the man asked jasker, taking a large step back. “Like what?” Jaskier replied exasperatedly.

“Have a good night,” Geralt ground out, managing to make that nicety sound more threatening than either of the two previous statements he’d made. The man, valuing his life, scuttled from their view.

Jaskier, turned, blushing. “Thank you,” he said, “to be honest, we were not on the same wave about--” Geralt grabbed his arm and hauled him towards the staircase to their room. 

Oh. 

Oh ho ho. 

Jaskier grinned wildly, tripping over his feet to follow. 

Geralt did not stop on the stairs, but hauled the bard all the way up to their room and pinned him against the door as it closed. 

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Geralt demanded. 

Jaskier took a moment to register the words, his stomach and brain too busy screaming about how firmly he’d been shoved against the door. 

“What?” he asked finally. 

Geralt looked at him as though he was incredibly stupid, and perhaps he was. 

“There is no balcony here,” Geralt ground out, “you were going to leave with somebody you’ve never met before, drunk, when there’s no balcony here.”

“I wasn’t going to leave with him--” Jaskier scoffed. 

“Then what were you doing?” 

Flirting with some random stranger so you’d get jealous, Jaskier thought but did not say. 

“Why are you still holding that?” Geralt demanded, motioning to the drink. 

“Oh, I…” Jaskier held it up. 

“Did you drink any of it?” 

“No,” Jaskier defended, “are you going to tell me off for drinking too much? Because I hardly think you ca--”

Geralt took it, crossed the room, and threw the entire cup out the window. 

“He took it from the barkeep and then handed it to you,” Geralt explained. His face was dark, and Jaskier couldn’t peel himself off the door, even though there was nothing holding him there anymore. 

“You think--?” Jaskier began, horrified. “No, I don’t think. Unlikely at least,” Geralt assured, “but I’m not sure. And you should know better, bard.”

Geralt still looked pissed. Jaskier leaned back on the door, head spinning. Now he was feeling drunk, properly that is. 

Geralt was once again close to him. 

“I was waiting for your attention, not his,” Jaskier bit out, trying to catch the Witcher’s downcast eyes. 

“By getting yourself killed?’ Geralt asked, “or by making advances on me and then immediately making advances on somebody else?” His voice shook imperceptibly as he said it, like he was scared to give words to what had been happening. He was more observant than Jaskier had given him credit for, clearly. 

“By trying to make you jealous,” Jaskier replied, feeling horribly childish. As he said it, he reached out to hit Geralt’s chest. Geralt grabbed his hand, and stepped forward, trapping their hands between their chests and once again pressing Jaskier up against the door. 

Jaskier wanted to apologize for being so foolish. For being so cruel, even if he hadn’t meant to upset the witcher. He wanted to say a thousand things, but mostly….

Jaskier leaned up to press his lips to the witchers-- he couldn’t wait on Geralt any longer, he had to know, he had to know-- only to be stopped by a firm hand to his shoulder, holding him down. 

“You’re drunk,” Geralt whispered hoarsely, breath ghosting over the bard’s lips. 

“Geralt--”

“You’re drunk,” Geralt said a little louder and clearer, taking a step back. Jaskier followed him. “Oh, come on, Geralt. Not too drunk to know I want this. I--”

Geralt held him back, at arm’s length. 

“You can let me know that again tomorrow, in the morning.” Geralt said roughly.

Jaskier’s heart felt as though it might fall out of his chest. He’d finally stopped waiting on his damn Witcher to make the first move and leaned in himself, and now Geralt was stepping away from him, stepping back and-- 

“Wait, tomorrow?”

“Mmh,” Geralt agreed, stepping back to put a (terribly huge feeling) extra foot of space between them, “tomorrow.” 

“Alright,” Jaskier said quietly. Whether the witcher had heard him or not was unclear, although Jaskier knew he could most likely hear, since the witcher’s hearing was better than his would ever be. 

“I’m going to pay our tab downstairs,” Geralt said, heading past him for the door, then, as he reached it, he looked over his shoulder to say, “get some sleep, Jaskier.”

Jaskier tried valiantly to stay awake for when Geralt came back, but after an hour or so of lying alone in the bed, sleep won, and he drifted off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thus concludes the "many times Jaskier has tried to get Geralt to talk feelings" part of "many times Jaskier has tried to get Geralt to talk feelings, and the one time he wasn't really trying to", now we move onto the last chapter, which is the "and the one time he wasn't really trying to" part of "many times Jaskier has tried to get Geralt to talk feelings, and the one time he wasn't really trying to".


	5. the one time he wasn't really trying to

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not really how I thought this fic would play out but ah well. here you go. If y'all are still interested in a more "Geralt gets fed up and does indeed shove the bard against a wall and smut ensues" ending, I could very easily be talked into writing a one shot 
> 
> much love to all, thanks for reading

Jaskier awoke in bed alone. The sheets smelled of Geralt, but it could’ve been from the first night in this room. 

Jaskier groaned, rolling to bury his face in the pillow. His plans had not gone…. Well, according to plan. 

Nonetheless…. “You can let me know that again tomorrow, in the morning”. Geralt had asked HIM to talk in the morning. After all his attempts to make Geralt talk, Jaskier had been the one unable to last night. He pushed his face farther into the pillow, moving slightly to feel the weave of it scrape against his cheek. 

Geralt had acknowledged his advances. He hadn’t been object to them. And yet. He hadn’t seemed entirely enthusiastic. Perhaps all of this had been for naught, perhaps Jaskier’s original guess had been correct, that the Witcher knew of and even returned his feelings but desired no relationship with him.

Jaskier sighed, rolling onto his back to stare up at the roof, his hands folded on his stomach. The sun was well on its way to climbing the sky. His head hurt. 

There was no use lying in here, he’d created this mess, he would figure it out. And the fluttering possibility of getting back to the conversation they’d been having last night called to Jaskier more than he was willing to admit. 

He dressed quickly and padded downstairs, scanning the room quickly for the witcher. Upon seeing no flash of white hair, or broad shoulder, Jaskier’s stomach lurched with worry, but he forced himself to cross the room to the bar instead, in search of water.   
Geralt wouldn’t leave him, not now. He knew the Witcher had a habit of riding off to think, when things got tough, to sit with Roach far in the forest, but Jaskier hoped Geralt knew better to leave him to worry without word. 

“Message for you, Bard,” the innkeeper said as Jaskier approached, and he could’ve melted in relief. “Yes? And a water, please,” Jaskier replied, sitting. 

“There’s been a death, 10 minute ride from town,” the innkeeper replied, and that relief Jaskier had felt disappeared. “Death from what?” Jaskier asked. 

The man handed him a glass of water. 

“Same thing that killed that young man a village over. Guess your Witcher didn’t get it after all,” the innkeep replied. Indignation flared within Jaskier. Geralt would never lie about finishing a job. He cradled the water close, trying not to glare at the innkeep. 

“Is that the message then?” he asked. “No, that’s the news,” the innkeep replied, “the message is from your witcher. That he’ll be back before sunset, and to stay at the inn until his return.”

Jaskier sighed, sitting back into the chair. There had to be a second monster, possibly a mate of the first, or living with it, that Geralt had missed. 

“Who brought this news?” Jaskier asked after a moment, “here, to the Witcher, I mean.” 

The innkeep snorted a laugh. “What? What could possibly be funny about that?” Jaskier demanded. “Question is, who didn’t,” the innkeep scoffed. There was rather a small crowd of farmers who witnessed the man get ripped limb from limb. And after paying your witcher for his supposed help yesterday, they were none too pleased.”

“There’s got to be a second monster,” Jaskier defended hotly, “didn’t he bring something for them, before receiving their coin?” 

“Aye, a great horn. Folks are saying he found it, rather than fought for it,” the innkeeper replied, “stay calm, bard. I don’t care either way.”

“I care,” Jaskier blurted out, then huffed out a sigh, placing the glass roughly on the table, “where are these farmers, then?” 

Given the directions, Jaskier set off with determination. There was no reason for them to have jumped to the conclusion that Geralt swindled them, not when it was just as likely a second monster lurked in the woods, and given that Geralt went quickly to fight it without asking further coin. Jaskier’s clenched hands shook with anger, but he calmed them as he reached the first farm the innkeep had indicated on his list of angry mob members. Farm of a man named Esclon. 

By the second farm there was clearly a problem. “On the east side of the lake?” Jaskier clarified. “Eh…. no, more to the south,” the farmer replied. He was clearly still tense, but if there was one thing Jaskier could do for Geralt, it was this, talking down the mob. 

“The south?” Jaskier echoed. “Yeah, poor bloody girl,” the man replied. 

“Thought it was a young man?” Jaskier asked, confused. “Hmm,” the farmer pondered, “looked like a young girl what got ripped apart to me, but I can’ be too sure, wasn’t looking too closely at her, more the monster.”

Jaskier’s stomach dropped. “Esclon, he was with you,” Jaskier asked. 

“No,” said the farmer in front of him now, “but he was there at the inn shouting at your witcher. Must’ve seen it too.”

Jaskier asked only two curt questions to the third farmer, before choking on a breath, and sprinting off in the opposite direction, towards the lake. 

There had been more than one attack this morning. And Geralt was walking into a fight with way more monsters than he thought he was. 

Jaskier found him at the east side of the lake, grappling with what looked like an overgrown bug. Both witcher and monster turned at his arrival, hearing him crash frantically through the trees. Geralt’s eyes met him in confusion and concern. Then the monster chittered in Jaskier’s direction, and Geralt took the distraction to drive his sword up through the monster’s chest. It screeched horrifically in pain.

“There’s more than one!” Jaskier yelled as loud as he dared, watching as Geralt withdrew his sword and the monster slouched to the ground. As Jaskier prepared to yell again, unsure if Geralt had heard him, something struck him in the back, and he flew forwards through the air, crashing into forest new growth. 

Distantly, he heard Geralt’s voice call his name. Panicked. 

The thing he still couldn’t see swiped him again and he heard, rather than felt, his body hit a tree trunk. 

He gasped for air, world blurring with tears. 

When he regained the ability to breathe, thick black blood splattered across him and onto the tree he was still partially wrapped around. He ducked his face and gulped in another breath. 

The dying cry of the one he’d seen Geralt kill seemed to have done the trick of alerting the rest of them, because something slithered past Jaskier’s back and Geralt grunted in pain, sound of his sword cutting through thick flesh making it through the thick confusion in Jaskier’s brain. 

He rolled, the world spinning, and indeed there were three more of the creatures swarming Geralt. Jaskier’s heart leapt frantically, pressing against his ribs desperately. 

Jaskier blinked, and suddenly he was moving, the steady rhythm of a horses canter under him. He tried to ask what happened, but what came out was a cough. Geralt’s strong arm wound around his middle, and he realized the Witcher was pressed all along his back as Roach cantered. The view ahead of them blurred and twisted. Geralt curled protectively over him. 

“I’ve got you,” came his low voice, tinged with worry. “I was helping,” Jaskier protested weakly, “I came to warn you about the others.”

“You did a fantastic job,” Geralt promised, and Jaskier nodded, although distantly, he felt as though the witcher might be lying, “just stay awake for me now, Jaskier. Please.”

He blinked and Geralt was sliding him off the horse. He blinked again and Geralt’s strong arms were holding him close, carrying him up the stairs. 

When Jaskier woke again, he was in bed, but this time the sun was on its way down, not up, and he wasn’t alone. Geralt was next to him, hand on his chest to rise and fall with his breath. He could feel the Witcher’s heavy gaze, and he turned to meet those golden eyes. 

“Sorry, I don’t think I did that great of a job helping,” Jaskier whispered. Geralt closed his eyes, smiling. 

“It got the jump on you,” Geralt said quietly, after a moment, “not your fault you got thrown down a hill. Other than that you were very helpful, my--”

He swallowed thickly, then opened his eyes again, his gaze once again piercing. “How are you feeling?” Geralt asked. He sat up on the bed, hand sliding off Jaskier’s chest, and Jaskier shuddered at the motion, “what hurts?”

Jaskier took a deep breath. “My lungs. My left arm and side. My head.”

“Piercing pain in your lungs, or ache?” Geralt asked. 

“Just ache.” 

Geralt motioned for him to sit, and then slowly ran his hands down Jaskier’s sides. 

“Ribs all in order?” Jaskier asked, shuddering under the touch. 

“Mmh,” Geralt replied, “I can’t feel any broken. Just bruised. Still, once you’re up for travel, we should make way for a bigger city, with a healer.”

“For bruised ribs?” Jaskier asked. Geralt still hadn’t taken his hands off his sides, as though he needed the point of connection for reassurance. 

“Just in case,” Geralt said quietly. 

“I don’t like being the damsel in distress,” Jaskier said after a moment. 

“You were worried, and trying to warn me,” Geralt replied softly, hands still smoothing over Jaskier’s sides, “those things threw me around too, don’t worry. I just had the potions in my system to keep from getting winded.”

Jaskier hummed in agreement, but he looked down at his hands. “Still, I’m sorry you had to carry me home.” Geralt reached a hand up and tipped his chin up so they were eye to eye again. “I’m not mad, Jaskier,” he replied, somewhat exasperatedly, then he swallowed thickly, and added, “I was just worried you were hurt badly.”

“Should we check my pupils for concussion?” Jaskier asked. That was standard procedure for when he was taking care of an injured Geralt. Geralt held his chin steady, staring into his eyes. Jaskier shivered.

“No concussion,” Geralt whispered after a moment. His other hand was still on Jaskier’s hip, and now it was fisted in the material of his shirt. With a start, Jaskier realized he was shaking. 

“Jaskier, when you fell and couldn’t get up I….” The Witcher cut himself off by leaning forwards and pulling Jaskier into a searing kiss. The hand he’d had on Jaskier’s chin went to hold tightly to Jaskier’s hair at the back of his head. It pulled enough to be a grounding point, and Jaskier whined, melting into him. 

Geralt pulled back a moment to blink up at him dazedly, licking his bottom lip absently, hand still tight in Jaskier’s hair. Perhaps he was about to voice some grand love confession. Jaskier would never know, because he scrubbed a hand over his face and asked: “weeks I’ve been flirting with you and it takes me nearly dying to get a kiss?”

“Weeks?” Geralt asked, pulling him back a small distance. 

“Well, years, really, but these past few weeks in particular I thought I’d stepped up my attempts. Taking your clothes, pretending to be cold, orchestrating a need for closeness, a distinct lack of clothing-- I’ve been trying,” Jaskier replied, his mouth running away from his brain. 

“You were doing that on PURPOSE?” Geralt asked. 

“Which one?” Jaskier asked in confusion.   
Geralt growled. “Why didn’t you TALK to me?” 

“I tried! You’re not the most talkative, if you hadn’t noticed,” Jaskier defended, “the partial nudity was plan B.”

“Oh, and giving me a fucking heart attack today was plan C, I suppose?” the Witcher demanded. 

“Oh no, today was most certainly not part of the plan.”

Geralt growled again, but merely pulled Jaskier in for another heated kiss, and Jaskier wasn’t complaining. 

They fell backwards onto the bed, Geralt careful to keep his weight off the injured bard. Jaskier wiggled himself up to face Geralt eye to eye, grinning widely. “I lied, I don’t care how we go to this conclusion,” Jaskier sighed, letting Geralt cover his face and neck in kisses. 

“Oh but I do,” the witcher replied lowly, “you tortured me for two weeks, what do you have to say for yourself?”

Jaskier giggled. “Worth it.”

***

Jaskier woke to fingers running through his hair. He turned without opening his eyes, rolling into Geralt’s bare shoulder, and giving it a kiss. 

“How are your ribs?” Geralt asked. 

“No worse than yesterday,” Jaskier assured. 

There was a moment of quiet, and then the Witcher asked: “what about that girl from your newest love song?”

“Hm?” 

“The one with white hair?” 

Jaskier opened his eyes in disbelief, but Geralt was staring at him earnestly. 

I swear to god, this man will be the death of me, Jaskier thought. 

He reached out and pulled a lock of Geralt’s hair infront of his face where he could see it. 

“Oh!” 

Jaskier burst out laughing, so much so that he felt the sting in his still bruised side. 

Geralt flushed and avoided his eyes. 

Jaskier shook his head and pulled the Witcher in for a slow kiss.


End file.
